By Czeslaw Milosz
Translated by Czeslaw Milosz and Robert Hass
My Lord, I loved strawberry jam
And the dark sweetness of a woman's body.
Also well-chilled vodka, herring in olive oil,
Scents, of cinnamon, of cloves.
So what kind of prophet am I? Why should the spirit
Have visited such a man? Many others
Were justly called, and trustworthy.
Who would have trusted me? For they saw
How I empty glasses, throw myself on food,
And glance greedily at the waitress's neck.
Flawed and aware of it. Desiring greatness,
Able to recognize greatness wherever it is,
And yet not quite, only in part, clairvoyant,
I knew what was left for smaller men like me:
A feast of brief hopes, a rally of the proud,
A tournament of hunchbacks, literature.
One son is at orientation, the other's orientation has apparently been moved until tomorrow -- again, nice of them to tell us, as I was relying on a schedule from months ago -- good thing I called the school! Today is a day to track down glue sticks, which have apparently been snapped up by wild glue-stick sniffers or first grade teachers, and to make the kids clean their rooms in anticipation of school. This is a make or break day with the older one, who has been on a kick for the past several weeks announcing that he does NOT want to go to the magnet program but wants to attend the local middle school with his best friend; am hoping the orientation program is fantastic.
In between rushing around, I watched the Hornblower Retribution movie. Oh my god why did no one warn me. *sobs* I still think Horatio mostly has eyes for Pellew, but I completely and totally understand Archie now. Recs for angsty fic, anyone? Please?
Berries, Pilgrims' Landing, Cape Cod National Seashore, Massachusetts.
Thistle, West Hartford Reservoir, Connecticut.
Anemone, New England Aquarium, Boston, Massachusetts.
Lily, Saint-Gaudens National Historic Site, New Hampshire.
Wildflowers, Saugus Iron Works National Historic Site, Massachusetts.
Wildflower garden, Cornish Colony Museum, Mastlands, New Hampshire.